


Crooked Muse

by sihtos



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: But this is sweet, F/M, Fluff, Love them, THEYRE SO CUTE, a tad bit one sided, and i feel like not enough people look at this couple!!!, and just a prelude to a story i have planned for them, hints of romance, mainly ignatz in his head, this was impulsive and just a means for me to practice writing, though this can be looked as alone, well in my opinion at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 01:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21245417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sihtos/pseuds/sihtos
Summary: Beauty is a word that is hard to define. Where others think of it as a look, he believes it is a feeling, can be found in acts. Flayn is there to redefine it all.





	Crooked Muse

**Author's Note:**

> hi again!!! this is my first mini, and is only short because I just wanted to write a lil something for them to sort of build anticipation for what I have planned for them. but I have like a kajillion ideas running around in my mind and I want to get one of the bigger ones written first so please anticipate that. anyways, I hope y'all enjoy what little there is here! I tried a cleaner, more elevated writing style sooo

Beauty. 

If Ignatz was asked to define it, his mouth would probably go dry and his heart would flutter knowingly, warming as the word turns wispy in his mind and dissolve on the tip of his tongue.

Beauty is short-live but ever-present, a transparent but shimmering liquid found in the rain falling down on a sunny day and across veiled landscapes that the eyes don’t notice unless they look twice. Beauty is found in the unexpected, somewhere deep within the artistic minds and beneath the tired eyes and near the dreams held close to an oversized heart.

Beauty is fleeting as is inspiration and can leave in less than a second, like playing with the ripples of a fast-paced river. Just like water, Ignatz cannot hold or taste them, but he can _feel_ them rushing between his fingers even as they swiftly escape his grasp.

Sometimes he thinks that muse flows through him, that his blood is not just red, but also blue and pink and green and yellow and purple. That the goddess dips his hands into a pool of revelation, bathing the tips of his fingers in color and clothing him with inspiration. His touch, blessed by the heavens, would then go and craft something worthy of the gods.

Ignatz does not just see with his eyes, but with his mind. Through there is he able to move his hands and create sculptures and paintings that reflect love and joy and pain. His mind erupts with ideas and colors with hands that are capable of shaping, forging. It has almost become as instinctive as it was impulsive.

But Ignatz has never really known beauty from the inside.

In a world built on a foundation where maintaining looks and reputation was an absolute, beauty has only ever been on the outside, in the glow of the major and minor Crests and the namesakes of the nobility. Ignatz merely looked at this kind of beauty while beauty looked back at him. The material beauty of Fódlan was something Ignatz _would_ never and _could_ never grasp in his hands, being the second son of a humble merchant family and all.

Though his colorful soul never quite gave up hoping. If vision and creativity came from within, from the heart, then why did people care so much for the guises of pride and status? Beauty may be ephemeral, but it is also ubiquitous, and its art timeless.

For the longest time, he felt alone in this prospect. That he and the statues and the canvases were the only ones who understood that beauty is all around, both inside and out. And while Ignatz chased after a kind of beauty that would imprint itself beneath his skin, he did not find it until he met Flayn.

Flayn reminds him so much of the stories of Saint Cethleann, because she was known for being as beautiful as she was kind. And Flayn was beautiful in every sense of the word.

It’s absurd how a single person can turn his thoughts into a kaleidoscopic mess just by simply existing. Ideals become mesh and meld but nonetheless iridescent as he watches Flayn stand on the edge of the dock, the wind at her back and the faint glow of heal magic cradled in her palm while she sews up a gash on a stable boy’s hand. 

The small act of kindness was enough to make the water around her glimmer in more color than one, as though the touch of her magic was all it needed to sparkle to its full potential. Her beauty brought out the best in her capabilities and even the nature surrounding her, and the light from her hand not only made her shine, but it seemed to bend around her, encase her in a halo. And Ignatz simply stops and stares and admires her from afar.

There is not a pen or pencil at hand, but the image of her smiling as she heals permanently etches itself into his mind with all the colors of the rainbow as if he was holding one. He wishes he could capture this moment and put each and every hue of her saintly beauty into his paint palette before brushing it onto a canvas.

This is what makes Ignatz believe that beauty was never outside, but _inside_. It began with emerald-green eyes, and a shy and virtuous smile.

_And he thought he knew beauty before. _


End file.
